by Caro Carson
Diana sucked in a quick breath at his caress, sorry he’d noticed her tears. She was supposed to make parties fun for everyone. “I wasn’t crying.”
“Technically, I suppose you weren’t.” He tucked their hands against his chest. The black satin of his lapel soothed the back of her hand as they danced, in silence. The music was beautiful, the lights were low, and her partner kept her secure as they danced smoothly, slowly, swaying to the sounds of an orchestra in a ballroom that had seen more than a hundred years of celebrations. It was one of the perfect moments of her life, and Diana knew it.
Gosh darn it, it was going to make her cry.
“Diana?”
She tilted her head back, looking at the blue sky that was permanently painted on the vaulted ceiling, as she blinked away more pesky salt water. “It’s just a great evening, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. That’s making you sad?”
“I’m not sad. Beauty can make you cry.”
They danced in silence a while longer, then Quinn spoke. This close, she could feel the deep bass of his voice in his chest.
“Were you experiencing great beauty as you left me so that I would dance with the woman in the red dress?”
“Oh, no fair. That’s a hard question.”
“It’s a good question.”
Diana tried to glare at him from under her wet lashes, but he seemed pretty unflappable. Darned doctor. He probably got training in that.
“Why don’t you answer my good question? I’m very interested.”
Honestly, how was a girl supposed to deal with a man like Quinn? Honestly, she supposed. The problem was, she wasn’t really sure what was behind her tears. She did what she always did when faced with a dilemma, and started talking it out.
“My mother loved the performing arts. Ballet, symphony, plays.” Diana could picture the list as her mother had written it, with loops for the tails of the letter y that were a work of art in themselves. “She said they were moments of perfection, and she was sorry I hadn’t witnessed them with her, because they would never happen exactly the same way again. But she said I should go and find my own moments of beauty, and to have the courage to be happy, even knowing that happiness might only be a moment in time.”
Quinn said nothing. The orchestra played, a beautiful blend of instruments. He held her against his polished tuxedo for the longest time, and then Diana felt him rest his cheek against her hair.
The song ended.
Diana closed her eyes, and tried not to care that a tear—or two, or three—fell from her lashes.
* * *
Mother knows best.
That last, sweet dance with Quinn had been special. Perfect. Her mother had been right: it was a moment in time that would never happen again, and it was all the more precious because of it. Diana wanted to quit while she was ahead.
She wanted to take her perfect memory of the perfect dance and go home, tuck both it and herself into bed, and relive it over and over. She’d even told Quinn she wasn’t staying for the country-Western concert that was about to begin in the spacious mezzanine because she had to work this weekend. It was barely past ten o’clock, and Diana didn’t have to be at the animal shelter at any particular time on Saturday, but she was expected, and it was work.
Before she left him, she had one more beautiful moment in mind, like something out of the movies. She envisioned herself leaving Quinn with a kiss, with one perfectly sweet press of her lips on his. Then she’d walk away, alone. But while she stared at his mouth, thinking about that kiss, his lips formed words she’d never expected.
“Where are you parked?”
She was undone by his practicality. She wasn’t going to quit while she was ahead, after all. Quinn insisted on escorting her to her car, which seemed so very Quinn of him, Diana had not bothered trying to refuse. He’d already changed her image of the ideal man, setting the bar higher than she’d thought possible before tonight. She might as well take his arm and stroll outside on a summer night. It was a terrible risk, because no other summer night might ever be so special.
Quinn led the way through the crush in the mezzanine, nodding at acquaintances and subtly clearing the way as the crowd jockeyed for positions around the temporary stage. Diana spotted Becky Cargill, who was laughing as a young man boosted her onto a table for a better view as the evening’s first star began his country-Western hit.
Diana smiled at Becky’s happiness. There, at least, she’d lived up to her mother’s standards. She was leaving someone at this ball better off than she’d found her.
Quinn kept Diana close behind him as they headed down to the lobby on the crowded, carpeted staircase. They were stopped by every other person, it seemed, people who wanted to greet Dr. MacDowell. Clearly, he was more important to the hospital than she knew. It was a sobering reminder that he was destined for a woman like Patricia Cargill, or the lady in red, or the woman in white. In the future, someone elegant and educated would accompany Quinn through event after elegant event.
Will she help him enjoy each party?
“Dr. MacDowell!”
Diana and Quinn turned simultaneously toward the woman who had called his name. There was something in the way she said his name, a tone of shock, that gave Diana chills.
“What are you doing here?” the woman asked, staring up at Quinn from the bottom of the staircase as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
Quinn hesitated, almost imperceptibly. Diana might have missed it if she hadn’t had her hand on his shoulder, keeping her balance as she stood one step above him. Then, with his usual decisiveness, he led Diana down the last two stairs, pulled her out of the main stream of partygoers, and asked her to wait for him.
Diana watched him approach the woman. It was easy to see that he was saying “I’m sorry.”
Everything about the woman’s stiff posture expressed her shock. She kept looking from the phone in her hand to Quinn’s face. “I just heard. You weren’t there?” she said, her voice carrying easily above the motion and murmur of the lobby crowd. “But you’re her doctor. You’ve always been her doctor. She loved you.”
Quinn answered her, but he kept his voice too low for Diana to hear. Diana thought that was wise. She could tell in a glance that this woman was teetering on an emotional edge, and if Quinn raised his voice to match hers, she’d be high-pitched and howling in no time.
“You put her in the hospital and then you came to a party? You weren’t there when she died?” The woman’s words bounced off the marble and wood, drawing attention from those nearby, some of whom stopped and whispered to their fellows.
Diana’s heart bled—for both the woman and Quinn. The woman was clearly distraught, but Quinn had to have been cut by that accusation, cut deeply. Still, he was staying calm, speaking seriously, giving the woman all his attention.
She jerked away from him. As she strode past Diana, she practically spat her words over her shoulder at Quinn. “I’m going to the hospital. You enjoy your evening, Dr. MacDowell. You just enjoy yourself.”
Quinn said a few words to the man who’d been standing with her, who then headed after the woman.
Quinn remained where he was, looking calm and unfazed, when he couldn’t possibly be. People began to resume their own conversations. Diana thought she should give him a minute, perhaps, to let him recover from the scene in his own way.
To heck with that.
Diana scooted around the people still lingering, perhaps waiting for more drama, and hugged Quinn’s arm as soon as she reached his side. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
He turned that neutral expression on her, then dropped his gaze to his sleeve, where she clung with both hands as she pressed against him. “For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m sorry you had to hear such bitter words. She was in pain.�
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“Yes, she was. Her grandmother passed away this evening.”
He sounded so matter-of-fact, but it was all so upsetting. Diana wished she could give Quinn a proper hug, but they were in a busy hotel lobby. At a black-tie gala.
Quinn covered one of Diana’s hands with his. “It’s an occupational hazard. I’m fine. Death is part of any doctor’s practice. The human body can’t last indefinitely. I did all I could.”
“But—”
“Ready to leave?” Quinn turned toward the Sixth Street exit, as if he’d merely offered Diana his arm as a gentleman, not as if he had a woman clinging to him in sympathy.
She kept one hand tucked into his elbow. They were silent as they walked through the leaded glass door and down the steps to the sidewalk. The hotel anchored a corner of Sixth Street, a street lined with bar after restaurant after pub, each with its own musician spilling live music out its door. Diana was about to gesture one way, toward her car, when Quinn began walking her in the opposite direction.
It was Friday night, so the sidewalk was busy, filled with young people, hyper, happy, hollering, a striking contrast to the formal crowd in the hotel that loomed over them.
Quinn remained as he’d been all evening, calm, cool and collected in his tuxedo, walking with unhurried steps down Sixth Street, then down one of the main cross streets, but Diana was now certain his cool was all an act. Quinn MacDowell was upset: he’d forgotten to ask her which way to her car.
They lived different lives. They had nothing in common, not friends, careers or lifestyles. Diana would never have matched them together. It would have been as doomed as matching a Yorkie with a rancher. No matter how fond they were of each other, it was not a good pairing. As a couple, she and Quinn wouldn’t last.
But tonight, he was more vulnerable than the world knew, and he had no one but her to care. He’d been alone when she found him, alone and brooding, and she wouldn’t leave him just as badly off as she’d found him. Quinn MacDowell, M.D., needed her. And that, to her, was a thing of beauty.
Diana let him lead the way, content to go in the wrong direction with the right man.
Chapter Six
I did not fail to do my best.
No matter what her granddaughter had accused him of, Quinn had taken all the right steps with Irene. Quinn had assured her granddaughter that Irene hadn’t suffered, although it would take time for that truth to sink in and bring comfort.
Quinn had done his best. It was a fact that the human body could not last indefinitely...
Diana rested her cheek on his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts and slowing his steps. Her simple act seemed tender. Sweet—to cancel out the bitterness.
If Quinn allowed himself to think about that, he’d lose what calm he commanded.
Yet, he was glad she was by his side. As her hair brushed his cheek, he could abandon logic and loss, and lose himself in the sensation of having a woman so willingly pressed against him. She smelled good, damned good, a mix of flowers and spices, a feast for the senses. Quinn allowed himself to breathe more deeply, long, slow inhalations that matched their unhurried steps. More spicy than floral, he decided, like the best wine in his collection.
Quinn glanced down, taking in the view of her legs from this angle. They stepped in unison over each crack in the sidewalk, the metallic straps of her sandals reflecting the neon lights of the bars they passed. The rhythmic flashes of her bare legs and the flexing of her toned thighs had a hypnotic effect that silenced the endless loop of his thoughts.
They were alive, she and he. The human body had its limits, but it also had its pleasures, and hers was a pleasure to view. From the first moment she’d sat next to him and he’d watched that green hemline settle dangerously high on her thighs, Quinn had been enjoying the view.
For hours, he’d watched as she’d smiled and laughed, beautifully enjoying her life. And Quinn? Hell, he’d had to be told that a ball was made for dancing, that sparkling wine was worth drinking, that a man should find the right woman.
The right woman. What did that mean? A woman whose willingness to be happy made those around her happier. A woman with childish delight in a party. A woman with a wise appreciation of the ephemeral quality of beauty. A woman who outshone the shimmer of her own silk-fringed dress.
Watching her was no longer enough. Not nearly enough.
The night was still young, and Quinn was wasting this time with her, settling for a glimpse of leg, a whiff of fragrance, a hand on his arm. It was all too little, a drop of water on the tongue of a man who’d just realized he was dying of thirst.
He dropped his arm, sliding it around her waist to pull her closer. Better. They kept walking as she slid her arm around his waist, too, and he turned to kiss her temple, savoring the warmth as he pressed his mouth to her skin. She pressed her whole body against him in response, and the last of Quinn’s reason took a hike.
They’d reached his building. Thank God. It would only be minutes before he could satisfy his craving for Diana. The elevator was mirrored, and it would soon be filled with reflections of tan legs and red-gold hair. He’d get his hands on all that green fringe, get his mouth on hers. They’d lose his jacket, shred the tie, and by the time the elevator stopped on his floor, he could have her in his condo and on his bed in—
He stopped at the lobby doors, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her on the sidewalk, because the elevator was too far away. Her mouth was perfect, hot and moist and as eager as his. He pulled her body against his, and her arm felt strong around his waist. They were alive. They were together.
Her other hand slid over his collar and secured a fistful of his hair.
Hell, yes.
The crowd on the sidewalk approved, too. The wolf whistles barely registered, but when male voices got too close and too crude, a sense of protectiveness made Quinn break off the kiss. Diana’s expression was perfect. Panting, a bit dazed, she looked at him with something close to wonder—exactly how he felt.
Awed.
“You are...my God, Diana, you are everything worth having. Kissing you, it’s...”
“It’s magic,” she whispered. “I know.”
He pushed open the glass door to his building and waited for the security guard to recognize his face and buzz him through the inner set of doors.
“Why are we going in here?” Diana asked.
“I live here.”
“Good.”
She grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him hard. She was a great kisser, matching him in intensity, meeting him all the way. When the buzzer sounded, Quinn backed into the inner door, dragging Diana into the lobby with him before he dragged his mouth away from hers.
That elevator seemed a mile away. As they crossed the carpeted lobby, he grabbed one end of his bowtie and jerked it loose. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. He took one step inside, managing—just barely—not to yank her into the mirrored interior. He forced himself to turn and place a hand on the door to prevent it from sliding shut.
Diana hadn’t stepped in when the door opened. She was looking over her shoulder, taking in the artwork, which was set off by the dramatic architecture of the lobby. With his eyes on her legs, he saw her bounce, just once, on her toes. “This is a beautiful place.”
Control. He needed control over himself. He took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the flawless, smooth skin. “I can’t see it. I only see you.” It was sappy. He’d never been more serious.
She looked at him, her brown eyes serious, too. “Let’s make some magic,” she whispered.
He didn’t move.
“Now.”
He yanked her into the mirrored car and slammed the side of his fist on the close door button. She didn’t need to regain her balance, because he lifted her high against him as the doors slid shut. He de
voured her mouth as he cupped her perfectly rounded backside in his greedy hands. Her purse hit the floor and her hands dug into his shoulders as she wrapped one leg around him, and he felt the heel of her silver sandal pressing into the back of his thigh.
He tore his mouth away from hers, struggling to slow the pace—he was not going to take her in the elevator, no matter what his body demanded—but when he opened his eyes, he saw Diana everywhere, every angle, wrapped around him like a dream come to life. The green dress had finally, finally ridden above the perfect curve of her backside, and his hands were spread over hot-pink satin. Color, vibrant color. That was Diana, beautiful, vibrant Diana.
The chime sounded again, and she quickly let go of him to slide down his body until her toes touched the ground again. People were waiting outside. Quinn instinctively stepped in front of Diana, although he was aware that the mirrors probably hid nothing.
“Quinn,” one of his neighbors greeted him, getting on without waiting for Quinn to get off.
He could feel Diana wriggling behind him to pull her dress down as two more guys stepped inside.
“You going to the roof party?” one asked.
“No,” Quinn said, and he hit the door open button while the look on his neighbor’s face registered a big moment of enlightenment as Diana slid into a deep knee bend to pick up her purse, using Quinn’s leg for balance.
“Right,” the man said. “Catch you later.”
They left, Quinn keeping Diana close behind him in the hallway as the elevator continued without them.
“Are you okay?” he asked. The words “I’m sorry” were on his lips when he realized Diana was laughing.
And so, suddenly, was he. Life was good. This night was perfect. This woman was amazing.
He scooped Diana into his arms and carried her down the hall to his door. She pulled her jeweled barrette out of her hair, and shook out surprisingly long hair. Quinn managed to open his door as he cradled her to his chest, because she was unbuttoning the studs of his tuxedo shirt, and there was no way in heaven or hell he’d stop her from doing that.
